Le Chemin de Malfoi
by DiaAladastrius
Summary: *Chapter 2 uploaded* Though the prologue and Chapter 1 mostly concern pre-Salazar (Craig) and Salazar, but this chapter concerns Helga Hufflepuff. Helga, accused of being a witch in 1061in Normandy (France) is imprisoned in the catacombs. While she's ther
1. Remembrance

Aladastrius and I (Dia) have joined our forces, outbalancing the force of law, to write a series.A rather long one in   
my opinion.This is only the prologue in our long epic and other the other parts are not as boring. We hope you all  
enjoy this! (This part was written by Dia). This contains some naughty words.  
  
Dia and Aladastrius present to you....  
  
Le Chemin de Malfoi  
Prologue: Remembrance  
  
  
The stale air which reeked with the aroma of mildew, hung over the room like an aura, casting a  
mien of ancient untold secrets and the close proximity of death. The stench of the  
deceased swept through the cracks between blocks of stone, spreading it's unmerciful  
hand throughout the corridors, rooms, and halls of my citadel, my great fortress that  
pierces the crimson sunset like a sword, my imprisonment.  
  
I know there wouldn't be a sunset made of the splashes of watercolor paint against  
canvas because I wouldn't live to see it. My chest shudders in pain as I try to exhale from  
the breath I held for what seemed like an eternity. Along with the carbon dioxide, blood  
spouts out of my gaping mouth onto my writing table, barely missing the parchment I'm  
scribbling on. My quill darts and races upon the papyrus, marring the parchment with  
delicate curves of obsidian ink. The elaborate painting my quill makes is for my heir to  
read when it is time. The moisture in the air causes my ebony robes to cling to my chest,  
allowing a clear view of my ribs. As I scrawl my message in a forbidden language upon the  
paper I hear the wailing of the bagpipe from across the loch. It's mournful song adds to  
the melancholy that has taken over my soul.. I know my fate is inevitable. I hear the  
clamping of armor against stone as my executioners, Godric's soldiers, spiral towards my  
humble abode.  
  
It's funny, no- downright fucking hysterical that when I, Salazar Slytherin, am so close to  
death that I can feel her icy claws, put everything, my situation, my environment, my  
actions into poetic context. Most people would think if a person was dying they would  
think about their past experiences and basically put their life in a short summery and grade  
it like it was a freakin' report. Nope, I have to be original and become another Edgar Allan  
Poe in the making. Hell, I can't even remember what I did in my life before the age of 10  
and then to make it strange, I remember things that happened in years after this time! I  
don't even remember what my name was before I claimed the alias of Salazar Slytherin.  
  
I abruptly turn my head towards the door that blocks my office. The clamping has gotten  
louder. They are closing in on me. I feel the deathly chill of Hel's breath upon the bare  
patch of skin on my neck. The old wooden door whose planks of wood have thousands of  
splinters piercing the moisture that clings to the air and is barred by a simple band of iron  
couldn't save me from the murderous plans of Godric Gryffindor. If it wasn't for the lack  
of time, I would start cursing to Odin about the architect of this castle's lack of paranoia.  
  
I face my letter again. I neatly write my name in my horrible Olde English and set my quill  
upright in it's assigned ink bottle. With a waver of a hand and murmur of an incantation  
the ink dried upon the paper. I fold the parchment in a neat little rectangle and I place my  
seal upon where the ends of the paper meet. I place this message in the safety of one of my  
desk's hidden drawers. With this last task done, I can think.  
  
I stare out of my slit of a window, onto the murky waters of the loch. Encircled by verdant  
rolling hills of the highlands, the lock will forever be in a shadow. The gray sky looms  
overhead, leaving a reflection on the almost dead water. I sigh as I catch myself fingering a   
  
song that could be played on a guitar. As they move closer, my soul wavers towards  
another side of myself. This part of myself being more sarcastic, ignorant of magick but  
fully aware of science and the untouched technology of the unmagickal. I'm leaving my  
yin for my yang. Now I can here the hateful murmurs of my executioners. These will be  
my last minutes. I tuck a thick strand of black hair with some silver strands behind my ear  
as the wooden doors started bulging under the pressure of about 16 men pushing against  
it. I turn up my sleeve and with a finger, trace the faded outline of a tattoo of a salamander  
that is engraved onto my lower arm. It's funny that I don't remember how, where, and  
when I got this but, I still remember how to play the electric 12-string bass guitar.  
  
The old wooden door busted open.  
  
******************************~Flashback~*******************************  
  
Rain, endless bloody god forbidden rain, fell in small droplets upon the windshield. The  
windshield wipers wipe the droplets away only to receive more. The constant pounding of  
the downpour filled my ears with a constant rhythm. My gazed wavered from the constant  
traffic onto the bleak waters of the Pacific, gently rolling, allowing itself to be bludgeoned  
by the consistent force of rain. The 'sheer' sound of cars speeding by in another direction  
beat my eyelids to droop. The clouds overhead form the shape of a-  
  
"Salamander! Are ya' awake?!"  
  
These are one of the moments I really really despise living in Oregon.  
  
"Yes I am awake, now that you have awakened me from my reverie," I reply to my  
companion's rude awakening. For a while I wonder why he called me 'Salamander; till I  
felt pain that could even make a masochist scream 'Stop!".  
  
" Why the hell did you ever convince me to get this goddamned tattoo!" I yell at him,  
holding my arm in front of his face, giving him a great prospective of the vibrant crimson  
salamander painted into my arm. He pushes my arm away with a look of disgust marring  
his face.  
  
"Jesus Craig! I'm trying to fucking drive here! Anyway, Jenny thought it would be sexy  
for you to get the tattoo, remember?" Jake said, mocking me with his tone.  
  
" She was drunk at the time, and it was also Jenny that thought naming our band 'The  
Funkadelic Oranges' was sexy too, remember?" I reply, damning Jenny Mkcarthy to the  
darkest, most evil, level in hell.  
  
"Yeah, and it was also Jenny that gotch' ya' to play the bass. Remember?"  
  
I was sick and tired of these mind games, and ignored his comment. I reverted my eyes  
back to the drenched road. My empty mind being filled by my useless ponderings. It was  
then I saw a crimson flash of a corvette zooming by.  
  
A guy running a red light.  
  
I turn my head to Jake, listening and his attention focusing onto Iggy Pop's "Search and  
Destroy" which was airing on the radio. He was totally oblivious to the assholes in   
driver's seat around him.  
  
" Jake! Hit the fucking break!" I yelled over the old buick's stereo. Jake stole a surprised  
glance at me and then focused at the speeding corvette going right in front of us. He  
slammed on the break. Everything happened instantaneously. The impact of the crash,  
crunching sound of metal and bones, pushing against the restraints of the seatbelt, ribs  
broken, snap of the seat belt, body flying, hitting windshield, scarlet blood and diamond  
glass sprinkled, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, hitting concrete, and-  
  
  
Complete darkness.  
  
______________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Don't worry! There is more after this! Anyway here are the notes!  
  
1. Hel is the Norse goddess of death, daughter of Loki, the Norse god of destruction  
2.loch (pronounced lock) is what is theEnglish tern for a lake.  
3. Odin is the Norse god of war. He is the leader of the Norse gods.  
  
I own the Funkadelic Oranges, Craig, and everybody else with the exception of Iggy Pop, Salazar Slytherin   
(J.K.R), and Godric Gryffindor (J.K.R). For those of you who say "Why didn't Salazar apparate?", magic is like  
muggle technology, it advances. Apparation was just one of those advances that weren't around for Salazar.  
  
Hope you all enjoyed that!  
  
Dia and Aladastrius. (We'll give any person 10 points if they can translate the title!)  
  



	2. What the Prophesy Fortold

All righty then! Sorry for the big space between updates! Chapter 2 is all ready written( by Aladastrius),  
and is more concerned over the Harry Potter verse. This chapter is just setting things up.  
I, Dia, wrote this chapter and the majority of it, is like I said, just setting up the story, but at  
the end of the chapter is where it gets Harry Potterish. We come up from where we left off, and  
here we gooooooo.......  
  
Dia and Aladastrius present to you...  
  
Le Chemin de Malfoi  
Chapter 1:  
What the Prophesy Fortold (Dia: Oh, how original!)  
  
Complete darkness confronts me with a splash of red, blood I presume. Blood  
accompanied with its stickiness, its crimson color that stains, scars, everything in its wake.  
After blood, your own blood, passes into view, pain follows.  
  
Excruciating pain courses through my veins, traveling the river of scarlet liquid that has  
numerous channels through out my body. The constant presence of agony leaves my limbs  
numb. The torturous agony quickly abandons my body, or should I say my being? or  
would it be more accurate to say the apparition of my soul? I can not answer my own  
questions because in this extreme darkness I can not even see the hand I hold in front of  
my face! Though the pain and absence of it has been brief, a dizzy spell has taken over my  
senses because of it.  
  
Floating in a ocean of death, ebony waves crashing over my limp, useless corpse Tossing  
it around has if it were a child's toy, and it is its toy, its pawn. All for the waves to play  
with until they get tired of the doll and plead for a new one. I always thought that when I  
died I would be met by a comforting world of light, a world formed out of purity rarely  
seen on earth. A realm of ivory and silver. I would see my Father, in his old plaid shirt  
holding in one hand an old tackle box with one of his many lures hanging out, and in  
another two fishing poles. The taller, heavier, more professional one for him. The tiny,  
blue one for me. He would be saying, " Hey sport, wanna' catch some basses in Little  
Creek?" and with his hand he would beckon me to join him in that little, dilapidated boat  
which would be behind him. He would be dry, his clothing not drenched with ocean water,  
clinging to his lifeless body. His face would be slightly tanned with a warm, healthy look  
gracing it. Not the pallid, frigid as death touch and sober expression that was placed on his  
face when I last saw him. Sometimes, I thought my Mother would greet me. She would've  
been in one of her nice flower dresses with no patches of soot or edges burnt off, long  
black hair shining in the sun, not singed by any flame. Her skin pale, but glowing with  
warmth from the sun not from the roaring flames, and she would be holding a cookie tray  
with hot chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven, calling me and my brothers to  
come in for lunch and a snack.  
  
But I was met by darkness. The darkness in my soul, and the darkness in my life. Father  
died on a fishing trip when I was 13, and he left me with Mother, who didn't have a job,  
and 7 younger brothers to raise. We lost our house a year later and moved into the  
projects. Mother got a job that only paid 2 dollars an hour, and I worked part time at a  
newspaper stand. At the age of 18, the apartment burned down and killed my 2 younger  
brothers Eric and Adam along with my Mother. I quit school and got a higher paying job  
at the General Electric plant which paid 7 dollars an hour. At age 20 I started dealing  
heroin and crack to pay the bills. Luckily, with the money I've gotten, I sent 5 of my  
remaining brothers to college. At age 24, I was charged for committing a misdemeanor by  
carrying some marijuana. I later moved to Oregon to start over. I met Jenny Mckarthy and  
Jake " The eternally stoned" Gregory and started a punk rock band with the name " The  
Funkadelic Oranges". 2 years later, I get killed in a car crash.  
  
Wow, that was my life in a nutshell. I give it a B minus.  
  
I wonder why I did that. I don't have the faintest idea, and I would appreciate if someone  
WOULD TELL ME WHERE I AM!! I start screaming and singing ' The Yellow  
Submarine" and "Heroin Girl" off key in Spanish.  
  
" All right now! In English! We all live in a yello-AHH!" I bellowed. I started falling,  
deeper and deeper into the ebony oblivion. The mouth of the abyss swallowed me whole,  
without even chewing. I barely dodged its incisors, jagged and sharp, waiting to have my  
blood shed on its surface. Frigid, arctic air rushed at me, plucking and pinching my face  
with its clawed fingers. I was crashing into gravity, and I was afraid that the trench had a  
bottom. I closed my eyes, afraid of the upcoming bottom that glinted death in the close  
distance. Then, I met ground. I collapsed upon hard, cold stone.  
  
" MY ASS! MY ASS! IT IS INJURED! I THINK I BROKE IT!" I hollered in pain,  
holding my gluteus maximus.  
  
" Stifle thyself pathetic mortal," a voice, soft, melodic, yet deadly all at the same time.  
Though it was melodic, it dripped venom. I turned to look at my intruder, or should I say  
the one I intruded on? Anyways, I forgot the throbbing in my ass.  
  
I looked in the direction of where the voice originated from. I caught sight of pale, tinted  
cerulean in the limelight. Her face was beautiful and it looked like it was carved from a  
block of ice by Michael Angelo. Her piercing azure eyes chiseled out of the frozen water;  
perforating my fleshing, and peering mercilessly at the shards of my soul. Her onyx hair  
was in tentacle like strands, binding myself to her eyes like an unforgiving chain. My eyes  
scanned most of her body, above the waist lay a pretty, graceful woman who popped out  
of a romantic fairy tale. Her limbs attired in pale, ivory flesh which got a tinted turquoise  
in the shadows, and her chest was clad in a silk, black robe which flowed and embraced  
her legs. The lower portion of her body was a different story. The stench of decay and the  
deceased found itself into my nostrils. Even dwarfed in the darkest of all fabrics, I  
envisioned her graceful legs stripped down to the bone with chartreuse flesh, reeking of  
mold, hanging by threads in the cracks between the joints. I suppressed a shudder. She just  
stared at me, a belittling glare painted with scorn, upon her throne. I regained my posture  
and returned her lethal gaze.  
  
"What?"  
  
" I demanded silence Mortal. If you can not silence thyself, I shall do it for you in the most  
unpleasant way," She whispered through cobalt lips, her words of ice chilled the air, her  
voice cracking to express an inner, volcanic insanity. I opened my mouth to express my  
feelings about this bossy bitch, but I quickly closed it, remembering her warning.  
  
"Wise choice Mortal. Close thy gaping mouth because one looks like an idiot and is a  
foolish idiot to speak as if he were an equal to the Mistress in her dwelling," she drawled,  
picking at the stubborn dirt that found itself underneath her claws. She continued to speak,  
voice dripping with ebony oil.  
  
" You have questions to why you are here, don't you Mortal?" I raise by gaze to her, and  
slowly nod my head. "Good, now that 'tis settled. Yes, you have died, and had died in the  
most unvalorious death one must possibly have. Collapsing into a metallic horse. That  
crime which you have committed sent you to my dwelling, the underworld where I am its  
Mistress, Hel." she announced, quite proud of her dramatic introduction. What does she  
want to do with me now? introduce myself as if I am at an AAA meeting? I can see it  
now... " Hello, my name is Craig Montoya whose parents have both died and I am an  
ex-junkie. After leaving my woeful days of dealing, I became another form of a loser, a  
failing guitarist in a punk rock band called 'The Funkadelic Oranges'." Yup, that will  
definitely earn me some sympathy from Lady Hel over there.  
  
" Yes, as you may have or have not have figured out. I am the Norse God of mythology,  
which is truth. I am Hell, the Goddess of the Underworld, the daughter of the God of  
Destruction, Loki, and the sister of the Fenris Wulf. Now, you are dead, but you were not  
supposed to die yet, and that means one of the Heavenly Lords have to make sure that  
you are living again or the balance would be unstabled.With your death being not in the  
place of great battle, you are not sent to Valhalla to meet with Odin, but you are sent to  
the depths of death to be sorted by moi. Goddess Hel. Any questions?" I just stared at her  
in awe. What an egotistical, half-rotted, bitch!.  
  
" Well, I unfortunately can not send you back to your...corpse because you already  
proclaimed to be deceased and by the time you can back into your body it would be  
another one of those fatal cases of premature burial, and personally I don't want to see  
you again in at least 3 decades. Get it Mortal?" she drawled, articulating each word to add  
a threatening emphasis.  
  
" So, the majority of all Americans are sent here? Damn, you must have some over  
population problems."  
  
" Yes, we do. Especially during the Vietnam War and the World Wars! By Thor's  
Hammer have I never seen so many worthless deaths in my existence! " she said, the ice  
melting reveal something other than insanity but, more close to humanity.  
  
"So, since I can't 'get back into thy body'. What am I supposed to do now? Sit on my  
bum and wait till the day I'm supposed to die and call for an appointment?"   
  
" I have discussed this with Odin and Vidarr, You will be taken to ancient Scandinavia in a  
younger, most likely pre-adolescent version of yourself. Your name WILL NOT be Craig  
Montoya. YOU WILL NOT mention the ways of the lowlife American, and most  
certainly, YOU WILL NOT MENTION THE NORSE GODS!!! she commanded. After  
this, I'm definitely kicking Jake's ass, but in this case, is ancestors ass.  
  
" So, when are we gonna' start?" I asked.Trying to sound casual from what I just heard.  
Ancient Scandinavia? Shit man, I am so screwed!  
  
" Now." she said simply, her voice as calm as the surface of a small pond. She raised her  
hand in my direction. Before I could say anything, my senses and body were immobile and  
my vision was distorted by a whirlpool. I felt the apparition-like waves rub against me,  
rising above my head to drown me in darkness. Wind whipped my hair against my ears,  
filling them with a whirling sound which soon made my ears throb. A multitude of colors  
surrounded me, most of them were different hues of metallic gray, green, and the different  
dimensions and shades of black. As this process continued, I was led to the wonders of  
sleep by the melody of voices, the cryptic lullaby of the pitying Gods...  
  
************************************************************************  
Somewhere in Normandy...  
************************************************************************  
Martamaius woke up with a start. Sweat dripped off his pale brow. Martamaius, quite  
disturbed about something which most likely was the cause for his awakening, didn't  
bother to notice, or at least acknowledge the perspiration that drenched his nightshirt and  
skin. His honey brown, shoulder length hair clung to his faith has he drew deep, hurried  
breaths which slowed in speed along with his heartbeat, throughout his gaping mouth. His  
eyes, onyx black and devoid of all emotion but fear and had the glint of a madman, alert  
and predator-like. The rising of his chest settled into its own rhythm again as Martamaius  
calmed himself down and relaxed his arched body.  
  
Pain coursed throughout his body. He cursed, and held himself in his arms for many a  
minute. It was only 4 times since he experienced a pain such as this, those times being the  
awakening of his own magick, and when the birthings of the Lion, the Raven, and the  
Badger had taken place. The night was dark and young, and Martamaius only found it fit  
when the night became a crippled old man whose blood-shot golden eyes slid out of his  
eyelids and looked up towards the heavens. Martamaius sighed. *I couldn't be... *he  
thought. *It couldn't be the coming of the snake! It is not written in the prophesies of old  
that the Servant of the Lord of the Serpents would come to Earth this very night, year,  
nor century!*  
  
Martamaius exhaled a held breath, and laid himself back down to the surface of his fine,  
feathered bed. Allowing the padding of rain against the roof to lull him to soundless,  
troubleless slumber.  
  
Martamaius, the only name his colleagues known him by, and the only name he knew  
himself by befallen under slumber's hand and drifted off into his sub-concsense. Not  
paying mind to the fact that the moon glow in a mystical, emerald glow.  
  
************************************************************************  
Somewhere in Norway....  
************************************************************************  
"Get up off yer' arses ya' bloody Slytherin cowards! It's time to face yer' punishment," A  
loud, commanding voice accented in German, awakened me. I felt the prodding of a rod in  
my surprisingly sore arm. I was about to say, "Let me sleep, ya' fucka'!", but instinct  
grabbed ahold of me. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sight of a large, blond man,  
his hair slick with grease and his skin tanned from being out in the sun. He looked at me  
with great disgust, and then resumed prodding the other people. I curled up in a fetal  
position, my arms hugging my legs against my chest. Everything seemed larger, it towered  
over my small body. I looked at hands expecting to see large, careworn hand with calluses  
at the tips of my fingers, but I am met with the site with a tiny, feminine hand which  
looked too fragile and dainty to even strum a guitar. I drew back my hand, and looked  
down the line of people, prisoners I noticed. My ankles and wrist were manacled and was  
chafed from the constant rubbing of flesh against sadistic metal. The man spoke again,  
directing his bombastic voice to all the people in the room, or should I say humongous  
prison cell?  
  
" All right, yer' no longer in Gwynedd ya' worthless pieces of flesh! Yer' no longer,  
nobles, Lords, or Kings of the Slytherin Clan but, slaves to the Gryffindoran barony. When  
I ask ya' yer' names I expect an answer or you will have an appointment with Chopper  
over 'ere!" The man said, indicating to the beefy man holding an mace in his hand, who  
swung it around for a 'frightening emphasis'.  
  
The man went down the lines, asking for names and receiving ones that I couldn't even  
attempt to pronounce. It was when he was four persons away, I started to worry.   
  
He walked up to a small, pale girl who had long, obsidian hair and cool, hazel eyes. He  
looked at her with a disgusted, yet lustful glare and demanded the telling of her name.  
  
"Astryd," she simply said, and then he went on to the next person.  
  
My shoulder's tensed a refused to relax when I recalled Hel's warning " Don't use the  
name Craig..". The what am I supposed to use? I'm not aware of the 'Jason" and  
"Brittany" names of the Norse language! What am I supposed to do? Make a name up  
from a fantasy novel?  
  
He was one person away from me. I could even smell the odor of sweat and dirty,  
sunburned skin, My salamander tattoo start to ache and I almost wailed in pain at the  
sudden shock of it.  
  
"Yer' name?"  
  
"Xaviar"  
  
Salamander..Xavier...Salamander..Xavier..My mind flashed, trying to come up with a  
decent calculation.  
  
He reached me. This giant of a man stood before me, prodding me with his stick and  
asking me for my haven't-been-created-yet name.  
  
"Yer' name?'  
  
"Uh..Uh" At first I was shocked at the youthful voice that came out of my mouth.My  
brain working a mile a minute to come out with something I can use as an alias!  
  
"Forgot yer' name already little boy?" he mocked. Chuckling a grotesque laugh.  
  
"Salazar!" I blurted out. Not knowing what I said at first, until he moved on to the man  
right next to me.  
  
I felt like singing hallelujah if it hadn't been for Hel's warning. A sudden headache had  
taken over my senses, and throbbing in my ears drowned out the noise.  
  
A emerald fire was ignited.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
In the horrific, morbid arms of the underworld lay before me. One after one pitiful human  
soul come to me to be place among my legions of the hopeless dead. Each day I grow  
uneasy, the force that makes me the Goddess of Death tips and turns and causes me to feel  
nauseous.  
  
The balance between Chaos and Law is leaning, tipping dangerously to one of the two  
powers. Chaos or Law in favor, I do not know.  
  
But I do know it would not be for the good of the heavens, the hells, where the land  
where mortals walk, and the place that is neither wholly of earth or wholly of hell. I just  
hope I'm wrong for once....  
________________________________________________________________________  
  
Was it good? I can assure you Chapter 2 is much better, and it doesn't even concern Salazar! ::pout::  
You get to see much more of Martamaius later (originally created by Aladastrius, but I added in the nameless  
thing ^_^). Well, here are the notes!  
  
1.Normandy is present France  
2. Gwynedd is present day Wales  
3. I couldn't think of any toher name to name muggle Salazar. EVERCLEAR FANS DON'T KILL ME!  
4. Helis spelled correctly  
5. I've been playing my brand new electric guitar instead of writing. I apoligise.  
  
Well, I got that taken care of. Please review and I'll be seeing you!  
  
-Dia 


	3. Forgotten Catacombs

An in-depth look at the founders of Hogwarts, brought to you by Dia and me, the author  
of this chapter, Aladastrius. This particular chapter does not focus on Salazar, but the  
"badger", Helga Hufflepuff.   
  
Le Chemin de Malfoi   
Chapter 2: Forgotten Catacombs  
By: Dia&Aladastrius   
  
The city's air is intoxicated with the smoke of hundreds of homes. The riverbanks are  
filled with the dead bodies of the criminals and the living bodies of the homeless. The  
streets filled with human and animal waste. Yet I still call this home. This is Paris, Normandy,  
in the year of our Savior 1061.   
  
A city filled with the terror of magick and Gypsies trapped into the sanctuaries of the lord.  
Burnings are seemed to be held every eve as if they were a rite given unto the people. This  
is how I got myself into this mess in the first place.  
  
All I did was steel a piece of bread. Yet the damned society thinks I have committed  
witchcraft. The cell I have been thrown into is as lurid as the streets above my head. It  
reeks of death and decay. The stones are mossy and cold to the touch. They bring a sense  
of fore brooding. I have been sentenced to burn an hour after sundown.   
The light of the sun slowly slips down into the horizon. The last of its sneaky tendrils  
brushing against my skin, giving me its last warmth I ever hope to see. The guard in front  
of my cage stirs. He is a bulky man, and wears a helmet of iron. He looks like the classic  
guard I had seen in the picture books my mother used to show to me before she had died.   
I slowly slip down into the corner where a small trickle of a liquid from the streets seep  
into my cell. Carriages and people pass my window, not even looking down. They are all  
to busy to notice a 'witch' in a cell, waiting for her life to end. My hair is matted and dirty,  
extremely dirty. My cloak is a tattered garb and barely hangs to my frame of a body. How  
could the daughter of a Marquise go so badly astray?   
  
My mind races, I have come up with a plan, a plan to go back to my father and family,  
even if it kills me I will try. I crouch even farther, getting ready to run at any open chance.   
Yelling wafts down the corridor closely followed by the agonized scream of a tortured  
body and soul. I can barely hear the laughter of the drunken guards in their barracks, float  
into my cell. The guard gets up from his post and leaves. The sun is now gone from this  
small world of mine. A time passes before the guard resumes his post. Only this time he  
doesn't go to sit down, he stands by the door with a key. I can hear the key being placed  
into the lock and the small 'click' it makes as it unlocks itself. The guard opens the door; it  
makes an annoying screeching noise. I look out into the hall; the only thing I can see is the  
silhouette of the guard.   
  
This guard seems to be more muscle then brain. He has forgotten a lantern, yet there is  
still enough ample light to see around for a prisoner. I try to quietly sneak along the door,  
but my luck has run out, I trip. A shackle chain has got caught around my foot. I growl  
out myself, but too late. The guard has heard my efforts and whirls around looking wildly  
around. He hasn't looked at the ground and least expected my foot to pull his leg out from  
him. It does and he falls to the ground in a loud 'thump'. He doesn't seem to think to yell,  
for help, thinking a girl would be no match, and he still doesn't. I quickly jump to my feet  
and try and jump out the door, yet this time the guard has caught me. He has caught my  
foot and I fall the ground, cutting my arm on the corner of the door. It starts to bleed  
profusely. I turn around angered and start to pummel him with my fists. It does nothing  
for his head yet I hit him over the chest and neck. He grunts and I jump up, this time  
without the guard grabbing at me. I start to kick him. I finally lay him unconscious with a  
blow to the nose. I can feel the cartilage breaking under my toes. I stop, hoping no one  
has heard the commotion, yet someone has. I start to run away, looking for an escape.  
Angry voices start coming in the direction of the torture chamber so I run the other  
direction.   
  
Angered voices in French follow my escape. I can see the other guards' shadows on the  
walls behind me and I run faster. Their heavy breathing is easily distinguished. I see a  
sliver of moonlight up ahead and I sprint for the light. My escape is the only thing on my  
mind. Where the moonlight is coming from is a door, a door to my freedom! I keep on  
racing, the door ever nearing. My exodus is the only thing on my mind that I never notice  
the man on my right. He is heavily cloaked in dark colors and jumps up to grab me. I try  
to yell as the man grabs my rigid body and places a hand over my mouth. He quietly  
pushes me into the corner, a finger over his mouth indicating silence. I keep quiet and he  
removes his hand. Then before I know what I am doing I take a swing at the man with my  
fist; He dodges it easily and hits me over the head with a rock. I quickly slip into the icy  
world of unconsciousness.  
~*~*~*~  
  
The man as quickly as he had chosen one out, which he would explain later, since the girl  
seemed to be very hostile, brave, but still hostile. He quickly replaced the chosen one with  
the body of the peasant girl. The guards wouldn't care. As soon as he had replaced the  
body, he let his magick fields down. For his age and practice, the shields were very  
complicated and still very tiring.   
  
The girl was very dirty, naive, and stupid. He had asked his partner, Julian to seduce the  
girl, for he was the better looking of the two of them, and younger for that matter. The  
girl took little time to get to the dungeons, and with the help of his magick he had gotten  
the Third of the Four chosen ones. He had gotten the badger, yet this was the best time to  
teach her. The girl had a trickle of scarlet blood running down her chin and looked to be  
dazed. Yet he knew very well that she wasn't.   
  
Finally, after the man had dropped into the shadows and rolled the chosen one under some  
straw, did the guards come. The found the peasant and took her away. He waited until the  
guards were what seemed to be far away, until he stirred. He had chocolate brown hair the  
reached down to his shoulder blades, and he was never caught without it in a braid down  
his back. His face was clouded in his robe, and he knelt by the chosen one and picked her  
up. He mutters a few choice words and the badger quickly was as light as a feather. He  
pushed back the hidden stone entranceway and entered the dark tunnel. After he closed  
the entranceway, he took out a piece of wood, that looked like a makeshift wand and  
muttered under his breath, "lumos," there was quickly a dull light in the tunnel.   
He started to walk down the hall; it was like he had walked hundreds of times before. The  
stone inside the passageway was a chalky white and had a luminescent value to it. He  
walked for what seemed like 2 kilometers before he stopped. He then pointed his wand  
and the third stone below the ceiling and started to mutter Latin under his breath. The wall  
disappeared and in its place was the river, Seine.   
  
The river was dark, even darker now that it was night, and wood could be seen here or  
there floating quickly downstream. He set down the girl and removed the spell, after that  
he put a charm on her that would lead her body to the catacombs, one of the many  
entranceways that led to many places neither wholly of earth nor wholly of heaven. Yet he  
knew she would find her way. He then quickly threw her body into the Seine's and  
watched it float away in the darkness. Saying a pray to one of his many God's, he turned  
around making sure to close the tunnel behind him. He then left to find Julian, because  
they would need to start her training as soon as possible.  
~*~*~*~  
It seemed days had passed before I had awoke from my unconscious rest. I had ended up  
in an entranceway of some kind, Then before my mind had even an inkling to where I was,  
a fear in myself popped up and the name struck me, the Catacombs. The evil place where  
pagans had preformed their rituals, then the druids, and now they lay disbanded, cursed  
forever. I shuddered, but the weird thing was that I was deep inside the catacombs. The  
passageways were dark, and I could barely see; yet I kept going, not knowing where, I  
kept going.   
  
Once again, days passed and I was scared and starved, going out of my mind, I crawled  
on. I didn't know I was going deeper into the Catacombs, mind always going back to the  
last sunset I saw, how ironic how that came true. Finally, to tired and weak to go on, I  
passed out. My body stumbled over bones, and then my body was neither under bones,  
nor solid ground anymore, I was sailing through the empty space, my body occasionally  
hitting the roughly carved sides.   
  
I had fallen through a vertical passageway into a lighted chamber. My body finally hit  
strangely soft ground with a sickening crunch. I felt as if I was on fire. My limp body  
rolled over, and a shadow stood above me. Blood was leaking from the back of my head  
where I had fallen. When I had awoken a small man, that looked like a lost monk was  
attending me, strangely, I felt healed and regenerated. He wore a brown robe and had a  
piece of rope for a belt. His hair was cut like a monk's, a ring of hair around the head  
without any hair in the middle of the circle and he had a small pair of glasses on his  
bulbous nose. He was pretty chubby and looked like the spitting image of Friar Tuck. I  
had heard of Friar Tuck before from my mother. A tear rolled down my check at the  
thought of my mother.  
  
"What about my trial?" I asked one day while he put herbs over my forehead. The small  
man nearly died of heart attack from shock, but quickly overcame it and wiped sweat from  
his brow.   
  
"Well," He started sounding croaky, "you will not be burned, Martamaius, saved you," he  
went back to a table in the corner of the room. It seemed that there were hundred's of  
exit's out of this chamber. I sat back as the man came back and wiped my brow.  
  
"You had quiet a nasty fall m'lady." he said. I laughed. The man smiled meekly in return.  
  
"I've had worse," I replied. He shook his head. "Who is the Martamaius?" I asked totally  
forgetting our conservation.   
  
"Well, m'lady..." he stopped thinking, "Well... I really don't know. I just know he is good.  
He is supposed to bring the four together. And you m'lady are one of the four, the  
badger." I looked puzzled.   
  
"So I asked, this Martamaius, wasn't and isn't going to hurt me?" I asked looking  
skeptical.   
  
"Oh yes m'lady, he will just bring you to the isle, and give you your training." He stopped  
looking at me. "Oh my!" He exclaimed, " You look like you are about to die of fever!" He  
hurried over to me. I tried to push him away, but soon stopped, I was feeling hot and laid  
back down.   
  
"So what is this isle?" I tried asking. He just cut me off with a look. I stopped and tried  
another question, "So, good sir, and what should I call you?" He smiled and looked at one  
of the entranceway's thinking.   
  
"Well, m'lady, that is a difficult question..." he trailed off thinking. "Hmm." he started.  
  
"You can call me Father Tuthill. I am an Abbot m'dear if you must know," he smiled  
knowingly and patted my shoulder. "And what can I call you m'dear?"  
I didn't have to take as much time as the old monk and answered as soon as the final word  
had left his tongue. "Helga, Helga Hufflepuff." I smiled and closed my eyes. He seemed to  
be a nice person, but before he had placed the rag on my forehead I was asleep.   
   
What seemed like hours later, I finally woke up. And once again Father Tuthill was above  
me, sweat was drenching his brow and he looked very worried. A look of relief shook  
through his features as my eyes fluttered open.   
  
"Oh Miss Hufflepuff, m'dear!" he looked in disbelief, "I thought you were almost dead!  
You were in a terrible fever and have gone terribly pale!" I sat up, a painful headache  
following me.   
  
"I'm all right Father!" he didn't look any more relieved. He crossed his arms and looked  
sternly at me.   
  
"Oh okay, if you say so..." he finally gave in. "Well, I guess now that you are already  
healed, I guess I will call Julian or Martamaius to come for you. Your training waits," he  
left the room and before her feet had touched the ground had she noticed that she was in a  
clean robe, and magickally the pain and fever seemed to be gone. 'What kind of training  
do they want of me?' I asked myself, but before I could think of anything the Abbot was  
back and there was a young, blonde man following him.   
  
"This is Julian," Father Tuthill said, "he will take you to the portal way." Julian smiled at  
me and I could feel my stomach flutter. I walked toward the Abbot and gave him a hug.  
He looked so surprised that he blushed and went around packing things, not noticing that  
he kept missing the bag and hitting the floor.   
  
He finally managed to get everything packed into a grain sack and gave me a rosewood  
staff. I thanked him profusely for the gift, and said I should have it that it was his wife's  
and that he wouldn't need it. So I took the sack and staff and followed Julian, into the  
nearest entranceway. I looked back and could still see the Father he had a handkerchief up  
to his eyes and was waving. I waved back and started to follow Julian into the darkness of  
the heart of the Catacombs.   
   
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
*  
Notes:  
1. Helga Hufflepuff, and some spells belong to Author J.K. Rowling. Everything donned  
'fictitious' belongs to me.  
2. Don't panic but you will see more Julian and the Martamaius in later chapters  
3. If you didn't know, the Catacombs are a place, right under the city of Paris France  
(Take that Rembridge Scholars! he he)   
4. Ten Points to anyone who knows what the Place that is "neither wholly of Earth, nor  
wholly of heaven" is!  
5. Normandy is our present France  
  
Dia's note: This chapter was written before Chapter 1. Also, I would like to give a big, humongous thank you  
to those that have reviewed. The thanks go to:  
  
Whitebears, I appreciatte the fact that you continue to review every chapter so far and hopefully this one. I also  
enjoy talking to you almost daily ^_^ It's nice to have author friends!  
  
Mina, I am grateful to your kindly comments, and I know that I (we) need a beta-reader badly. Are you interested in  
the job?  
  
Arianne, I am extremely happy that you find this worth your while and please, read more!  
  
Last but not least, Dylan S. Thompson. Your review has given me much pride in this project. I do not know about  
Aladastrius, but I am eternally greatful, and I wish that you would've left (sp?) your email address so I could talk to  
you.  



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